


just the few of us

by bruisedbutlovely



Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [6]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Dream Smp, Epilogue, Explosions, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Good Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Good Wilbur Soot, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Post-Doomsday, Protective Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Resurrection, Swearing, They run away with Wilbur, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Toby Smith | Tubbo and TommyInnit Run Away, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28828170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedbutlovely/pseuds/bruisedbutlovely
Summary: Months ago, Tommy told Tubbo that they should run away.After Doomsday, Wilbur comes back and decides to leave the SMP for good.He takes the two along with him.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160981
Comments: 47
Kudos: 631





	just the few of us

**Author's Note:**

> ngl my dudes i made myself cry
> 
> enjoy what should be the epilogue, what should be the ending

Wilbur never wanted to be brought back to life. 

When he finally pushed that button, he knew that his story was coming to an end. As L’Manburg was torn into pieces with flashes of yellow and red, he laughed because what else was he supposed to do as he watched everything he worked for fall to pieces before his feet. The ash caught his lungs and the heat rushed up him but he still laughed. 

And when he pushed that sword into his father’s hands, Wilbur knew that everything was finally going to be over. 

So as he opened his eyes to the same person that killed him and felt his heart beat against his own rib cage, all he could say was, “What the fuck did you do?”

_ Phil of all people should know that resurrection only lasts so long. _

═════☩══♛══☩═════

Wilbur still felt like a ghost. 

They explained everything, how a being they called Ghostbur one day appeared after the Manburg-Pogtopia war. How he didn’t remember anything bad, whether intentional or unintentional. How he carried blue, saying it took the sadness away. How he was the one that wanted Wilbur to come back.

But as he stared over the destruction, he wondered if Ghostbur was still with him.

Phil tried to explain. Fundy tried to explain.

They rebuilt L’Manburg. Techno, Phil and Dream destroyed it again. Fundy didn’t stop it. Niki burned L’Mantree. And it was like Wilbur was in the void again, choking, drowning, losing himself in the darkness of the void. 

He was crying blue tears. 

Ghostbur said it took the sadness away but why did everything still hurt?   
  


The L’Manburg that he created, that Wilbur destroyed was corrupt and dead since the beginning. It was founded on dishonest principales and fake ideology. It was founded on the idea of a haven, of a place without tyranny and wars but yet, there was a tyrant in power and there was a war for peace. It was founded on the idea of freedom, of independence but yet, there were walls keeping its own citizens in.

It was never meant to be. 

He was trying to give them a clean state without his poisoned mind and choked down words. A fresh start without his crossed fingers behind his back and smiles that were more fake than anything. A new beginning without his slow descent into madness and blood dripping from his lips. 

Wilbur was crying when Tommy found him. 

He didn’t know about resurrection, didn’t know about the frail threads that tied Wilbur down to this mortal plane of existence. And for a second, he thought that it was Ghostbur. 

But then, he turned and Tommy could recognize the real Wilbur anywhere because his eyes were full of life again and that scar he had since he was a kid was resting on the upper part of his cheek. 

“Wilby?”

“Toms.”

Tommy fell into Wilbur’s arms and maybe he’s crying too because it’s his brother, it’s his actual brother alive again. He gripped the back of Wilbur’s sweater too tightly and he knew that Wilbur wasn’t going anywhere but there was a small chance that he might. 

Like how he disappeared in the final control room, whispering to Tommy that it will be okay and holding him as they both bled out.

Like how he disappeared in the woods, telling Tommy to run far far away and watching him as the arrow slowly claimed his second life.

Like how he disappeared in the button room, yelling for Phil to kill him and glancing at Tommy one last time before the sword went straight through his stomach.

“Please don’t go,” Tommy begged and he pleaded and he prayed to whoever was out there that they wouldn’t take his big brother away again. “You can’t go.”

“I’m never leaving again,” Wilbur lied. 

Because resurrection was never true.

_ “I’m so sorry, Tommy.” _

═════☩══♛══☩═════

Wilbur decided to run away exactly three days after he was brought back to life. He knew that his time back was limited and though he knew it was selfish, knew that he should stay, he wanted to see the world again. He wanted to travel by the day and the sun, lie in the woods under the stars again.

Because the roads used to be his home. He didn’t remember the last time he let himself truly wander.

Of course, Tommy found him just as he was finished packing. 

“You said you wouldn’t go,” Was his form of a greeting. “You promised you wouldn’t go.”

Wilbu can’t tell him. 

“I have no home here. I have no business here,” Wilbur tried to explain. “Tommy, people can’t even look at me.”

“But you said you wouldn’t go.”

“I’ll visit whenever I can, I’ll bring gifts from the places I see and whenever you need me, I’ll be there. But I can’t stay.”

“I wanna go with you.”

Tommy’s declaration is quiet, barely a whisper but in Ghostbur’s house, for it was never Wilbur’s to begin with, it seemed like a roar. And oh, the fire was quiet tonight but at the same time, it’s never been so loud.

“What about the discs?”   
  


“I don’t care about the discs; I care about you, Wilby.”

There is a jukebox in the corner and it once played music. 

“Pack a bag, Tommy. We’re gonna see the world.”

_ It doesn’t anymore _ . 

═════☩══♛══☩═════

At sunrise, Tommy appeared at the bench dragging Tubbo behind him. The two, somehow wide-awake in the morning dew, each hold a bag. Tommy’s is beaten up and tearing at the seams but the disc Mellohi could be seen peeking out of the top of his bag. Tubbo’s is a bit more put together and he held a lead in one hand, a bee trailing behind the two. 

Wilbur was stretched across the bench, his eyes closed with a bag resting next to him. He’s wearing his old trench coat and beanie over the yellow sweater. His guitar is next to him as well. 

Tommy and Tubbo shared a glance before flopping onto the elder, forcing him awake. 

And although Wilbur acted mad, he can’t help but smile when he saw the two acting like the kids they were. 

That’s what people forgot all the time, that they were only children who were stuck in a game of chess where they were only pawns, manipulated and used by the chess master trapped behind a white mask. 

Wilbur wondered if the chess master knew that it was about to lose three pieces. 

They stood side by side, Wilbur in the middle with Tommy and Tubbo on either side. They watch the moon slowly disappear as the sun starts to warm their backs. 

Tommy’s hand slipped into Wilbur’s.

A few seconds later, Tubbo’s slipped into Wilbur’s other hand. 

_ A dead man walking held their hands tightly.  _

═════☩══♛══☩═════

They spent who knows how long walking. 

Time started to blend together after the second night they spent together, gathered around the fire like the beginning days of L’Manburg. Wilbur would play the guitar gently, ignoring the way it started to go out of tune in favor of laughing to Tommy’s makeshift songs and to Tubbo’s dancing. Sometimes, Wilbur would spend the night teaching the two how to play the guitar, laying his hands over theirs to show how to play the chords. 

He wanted to make sure that they were never without the companion of music, his only companion for many years. 

But as the fire died out, they would all lay on their backs and stared up at the stars. Wilbur would point out constellations, whispering the story behind each as the two boys laid on either side of him, making small comments like Wilbur couldn’t hear them. Slowly, they would each fall asleep to the stories and they would lie there, curled up together.

He wanted to give them the same stories others have given him. 

When the morning came like it always did, Tubbo and Tommy were always the first ones up. Somedays, they would wake up their older brother and other days, they would let him rest for another hour or two. They would travel to whichever river or creek was closest, daring each other to eat berries that they were pretty sure weren’t poisonous and picking rocks off the ground that they thought looked cool. When they returned with fresh water, Wilbur would be awake and making breakfast from whatever they had. He would make them help.

He wanted to make sure they could survive without him. 

Then, they would pack it all up and walk until nightfall again. They traveled through snow, through deserts, through jungles and mesas. They collected memories like they collected random items throughout the different biomes, some biomes never seen by the sixteen year olds now. 

He wanted to make sure they saw the world. 

Sometimes, their communicators buzzed. Sometimes, people messaged them, asking where they went, when were they coming back, why they left in the first place. On the fourth day of walking, Wilbur took his communicator and threw it off the mountain they were hiking. Tommy and Tubbo, who looked at Wilbur like he personally hung the stars, copied.

He wanted to make sure that nothing dragged them back to that hell.

So, they traveled millions of blocks away until not even the Nether roof would be enough to reach them. They sometimes spent days hungry and sometimes spent nights hidden away in a cave. But when Tubbo ran ahead, Tommy following closely behind like always, they found a field covered in flowers and grass that reached their waists. A forest surrounded the field like a protective barrier to protect the haven and it was then Wilbur fell into tears. Tubbo and Tommy only smiled, taking his hands and pulling him into the field. 

  
  
_ He wanted to make sure they had a true home. _

═════☩══♛══☩═════

Wilbur didn’t notice until it was too late. 

He was carefully sewing a cut on Tubbo’s shirt that he got when he was dared by Tommy to climb a tall tree. And they were only kids so Tubbo climbed the tree, claiming to see the entire world from its branches. Tommy only laughed, following his friend up the tree and they stayed there until they heard Wilbur’s voice call out for them. But as they climbed down, Tubbo’s sleeve got caught on one of the branches, tearing straight through it. 

And while the flower field was never too cold, Wilbur knew that autumn and the second year away was coming. 

Tommy and Tubbo were by the pond blocks away, just in sight of Wilbur. They splashed at each other and tried to make the other fall into the water but when Tommy succeeded, Tubbo pulled him down with him. 

They were trying to get up when they heard the explosion.

It was L’Manburg all over again, ricocheting and echoing as the TNT continued to go off with no signs of stopping. It was the war all over again, uncertainties passing their lips as they hope to live another day as the explosions went off. It was the end all over again, Wilbur getting torn away from them for the final time. 

Because there was a hole where their camp used to be and Wilbur was nowhere to be found. 

“Wilby!” Tommy screamed as Tubbo screamed, “Wil!” 

They abandoned the pond, sprinting as fast as they could towards the hole in the ground that looked too similar to the crater they each saw in their nightmares. And there, lying in the middle of it, was Wilbur, bloody. 

At first, all they could do was stare for he was lying the same way they found him dead last time. 

The two pulled him out of the hole, into Tommy’s and Tubbo’s shared tent for Wilbur’s was half-destroyed in the explosion. They set him gently on Tommy’s bed and with shaking hands, Tommy slowly catalogued the injuries as Tubbo found the potions that survived the explosion.

They each tried to ignore the way tears blurred their vision. 

Tommy cleaned the blood from his older brother’s body as Tubbo poured potions over the scratches and bruises. Wilbur’s left arm is bandaged and set in a sling for the magic of the potions can only do so much so soon. There’s a burn dancing over the top of his back that disappears quickly under the influence. 

But then, they can only wait for him to wake up. 

Wilbur slowly blinked himself awake a day later with the sun high in the air. He recognized Tubbo’s and Tommy’s tent by the bee plushie on the other bed and the disc resting innocently on a chest for there was no reason to hide it. He pushed himself up, wincing as fading bruises were jostled and his arm was shifted. The former president pushed open the tent flap, the sun beating down on him. 

Tubbo noticed him first. The teen was crafting an iron sword on the table when he glanced up, his face splitting into a smile when he saw the elder. 

“Wilbur,” He yelled, rushing up to give him a hug and even though it hurt, Wilbur tried his best to hug him back. “You’re up!”

  
  
Tubbo’s words drew Tommy out of a small cave close by where he collected coal. Abandoning his initial mission, he sprinted across the field where Wilbur waited for him with an open arm. He squeezed his two boys tightly, ignoring the way his heart seemed to beat half a second off and how his lungs seemed tighter than before. 

Tommy and Tubbo protected Wilbur just as much as Wilbur protected them. 

_ But time was running out. _

═════☩══♛══☩═════

They built a cabin made up of oak and stone. Tommy tried to take over decorating but Wilbur only rolled his eyes, gently pushing him away as the elder set up shelves and other items. 

It was small, modest and nothing like anything they’ve built before. 

It opened into a small living room where a jukebox could be found almost always playing Mellohi. It led into a small kitchen under a loft where pictures drawn hastily by each of the occupants were pinned up on the fridge. Stairs were behind the living room that led up to the loft where three beds sat. 

Tubbo’s was on the left, a dark green blanket thrown over it somewhat neatly. A bee plushie was always on it or next to it. A small ukulele rested against the footboard of the bed and although the strings were a bit pitchy, he played it whenever he could. 

Tommy’s bed was across from Tubbo’s, his red blanket a stark difference among the green. Pictures were pinned up against the slanted roof of the ceiling, the main attraction one of all three of them, smiling in front of their new home. 

Wilbur’s bed was in between theirs, against the back wall by the window. The yellow blanket was a soft comparison to the other two’s bolder colors. Books piled up around his bed, written by himself, the boys, and by villagers who lived close by. But his guitar leaned against his headboard. 

It was barely anything but it was home. 

THE MOST POG HOME was on a sign over the door. 

In smaller writing underneath it was each of their names. 

_ They were finally free _ .

═════☩══♛══☩═════

Wilbur died in the spring. 

He knew it was coming for a long time. Resurrection and necromancy was something to not be messed with and there were always consequences for not even a totem of undying lasted forever. 

Wilbur spent his final day with Tommy and Tubbo. They knew it was coming as well but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt, that it didn’t ache, that it didn’t leave a bad taste in their mouth. Their hands never left Wilbur’s. 

They walked through the woods, swam in the pond, climbed the tallest hill they could find for in the end, they were all kids that grew up too fast. 

Wilbur laughed loudly and without care. His smiles were warm and shined like the sun in the afternoon. He pulled the two boys close, trying to cover up his shaking hands for the void was here, coming to claim him again. 

They lied under the stars one final time, right outside their home. Wilbur told the stories of the stars even though Tubbo and Tommy heard them a million times before. They each gripped Wilbur’s hands tightly because maybe, he won’t go away if they’re there. 

But with a smile on his face and gripping the two boys’ hands tightly, Wilbur Soot died for the fourth and final time. 

_ This was meant to be _ .

═════☩══♛══☩═════

They buried him across the pond, underneath a large oak tree that was overgrown. They made him a haphazard gravestone and planted lilies around it. 

WILBUR SOOT, the gravestone read. REVOLUTIONIST, LEADER, BROTHER

There was another message underneath it.

_ May he find the special place once again.  _

═════☩══♛══☩═════

The flowers filled the field again.

The sun continued to rise and fall.

Time went on.

But as the light slowly slipped into darkness, you could hear the faint sounds of a guitar and a ukulele playing in harmony. You could see two boys sitting in a flower field looking up at the stars in the sky. You could find three beds, the one by the window empty.

And across the pond, you could visit a grave where you could sometimes hear a long-forgotten song when the night was right. 


End file.
